


As Soon As I Am Able

by Allothi



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: AU, F/F, Get Together, Humour, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-05
Updated: 2011-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allothi/pseuds/Allothi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superhero!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Soon As I Am Able

**Author's Note:**

> Main pairing is Gwen/Morgana; also includes mentions of Morgana/Sophia and Merlin/Arthur.
> 
> This fic probably owes its existence to lassiterfics, who commentficced superhero!Morgana extensively with me back in May 2009, and who I was afraid would hurt me if I didn't finish this eventually.

The first fateful meeting between Gwen Cameliard and Morgana Faber (also Le Fay, Protector of the City) happens in a bar on a Friday night in the studenty part of Camelotham. Morgana's slumming it, drinking the cheapest, nastiest drink the place can offer and basking in nostalgia for a life she never quite lived. Gwen turns out to be an actual student.

Morgana likes the look of Gwen, and it's a look Morgana reckons could work even better in Morgana's bed. She spots a friend of a friend of a friend in Gwen's little group, goes over, gets talking, and manages things so she's soon got Gwen at her side.

Morgana does everything right. The smiles. The not-accidental contact. Sitting too close.

When, around eleven, Gwen's friends suggest moving on to another place, Morgana touches Gwen's arm and says, "Hey. I know a really good place for coffee that'll still be open right now. Why don't we go there and chat?" And Gwen looks pleased and says, "Yes," and Morgana thinks, _yes_. She's in.

"Okay, so the _place_ is in fact my flat," she admits, ultracharming, when they get to the building. "But I do have a coffee machine and some decent coffee."

"Um, okay, why not?" says Gwen. "Freya knows you, you're probably safe."

"Don't be too sure of that," Morgana tells her.

But as it turns out, tonight is Morgana's night to be completely, _depressingly_ safe. She doesn't even get Gwen to take off her jumper. The girl really does seem to expect a coffee and a chat, and she sits on Morgana's burgundy red leather sofa -- which, Morgana would swear, is such a sexy-looking sofa it gets even the most repressed of occupants thinking the dirtiest sex thoughts they can muster -- and talks politics, books and trashy soap operas (the girl is addicted to EastEnders), until it's two in the morning and Gwen jumps up and says "Oh!" and "I have a lecture tomorrow at nine, oh god!" and then Morgana's helping her on with her coat and letting her hands linger at Gwen's shoulders, and thinking that now is the time that she should hold a little tighter, move a little closer, and lean in and press her lips to Gwen's lips, and maybe finally get things moving. But she doesn't. _Gwen has a lecture_. And Gwen looks tired and a little worried. And something has gone wrong and strange inside Morgana's head.

Morgana leaves the door open and listens to Gwen's steps on the stairs. Then she shuts it. Then she checks she's got Gwen's number on her phone.

*

Over the next few months, Morgana defends Camelotham from a unicorn, an evil knight, numerous small-time killers, thieves and general evildoers, and a mid-level supervillain named Valiant. She also starts meeting up with Gwen every now and again.

She meets Gwen for drinks again with Gwen's friends. And for coffee in actual coffee shops on odd afternoons. And she meets her to watch a film in Gwen's room in her tiny flatshare, crammed onto Gwen's bed with four other people, squinting at world-shaking explosions on a 14" screen.

It's a change from Morgana's usual social round, whirling in the arms of the wealthy and sipping expensive champagne. It's a good way to relax after a long day's fighting the heroic, morally suitable kind of fight against evil. It's a good excuse for Morgana to try out some more casual fashion styles. She's really liking the fantasy fantastic-creature fur trend that's coming in right now. It reminds her of some of her greatest victories.

Gwen's friends sometimes look a bit uncomfortable or whisper things about Socialite Ladder, or sometimes ask questions about Morgana's much-photographed fellow socialite, her secret half-brother, the insufferable Arthur Biglizard. Morgana doesn't mind all that much, except for when they seem more interested in Arthur than in her. But what's strange is that Gwen shows no sign of understanding that she's hanging out with _the_ Morgana Faber. She must know, surely, but she's phenomenally relaxed about it.

Morgana suggests to Gwen that they go out for a meal together, with the new wildly expensive atomic cuisine place in mind. Morgana herself is one of the investors. Gwen enthusiastically agrees to a meal, suggests an inexpensive Bangladeshi restaurant around the corner from her flat, and invites her flatmates and at least half of one of her tutorial groups.

Morgana decides, on a whim, when Gwen's Easter holiday comes around, to invite Gwen to stay a few days at Morgana's mansion. Gwen says, "yes."

Tintagel House is on the edge of town and has extensive grounds (the better for building secret lairs under), velvet-decked four-posters in many of the bedrooms, several ornamental staircases, and a ballroom. Which is one reason Morgana also has a central flat and spends a fair bit of time there instead. She glories in the mansion's excess, but even she can get tired of such things.

The other reason is that Tintagel House is a _mess_. Living with a secret heroic identity to protect makes life complicated in unexpected ways: Morgana always suspects the help of suspecting her, and never manages to keep anyone for more than a couple of weeks.

Morgana shows Gwen around and tries to pass the mess off as _splendid disarray_. Gwen smiles sweetly and says it's all right that it's a little untidy.

The next morning Morgana wakes up at her usual, civilised time of eleven in the morning (very compatible with her secret employment: evildoers are rarely early risers) and walks into the nearest bathroom to find it spotless. Downstairs, in the kitchen, she finds Gwen scrubbing the sink. The cooker already looks slightly shinier than it did the day Morgana bought it.

"My god," Morgana says. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning," says Gwen, happy as a bird, and, as if to fit the analogy, she starts whistling _Blackbird_. She follows it up with _Dear Prudence_ as she empties and wipes the cupboards, then _Glass Onion_ and most of the rest of the White Album when she progresses to the sink. She seems to be quite enjoying herself.

"I like to be useful," Gwen explains. "I'd feel a bit silly just sitting around and drinking champagne."

"We haven't drunk any champagne yet," Morgana points out. Last night they had a rather interesting white Bordeaux. And then: "Gwen, please stop this."

"It's really all right. It's so nice of you to let me stay in such an amazing place, I wanted to do something for you," Gwen says.

Morgana thinks, there are things that she would awfully like Gwen to do for her. She feels as though her life took a wrong turn that first night she let Gwen go. She should get herself back on track.

"At least stop for a while and let me give you a massage," Morgana says.

"I've only just started!" Gwen laughs. But eventually she submits, and, with Gwen stripped down to her underwear (unexpectedly lacy), and laid out on Morgana's bed, Morgana briefly feels the happiness of one who is certain she is just about to get what she wants.

"Oh, _oh_ ," Gwen says, as Morgana begins to deploy her massage skills. (Morgana is really quite good at this. She did a course around the time when she was fifteen and single-mindedly obsessed with learning everything that might possibly help her to impress girls.)

"Oh, just there!" says Gwen. "Oh, I didn't know how much I was needing this. I never realised how much I _ached_."

"Too much hard work," Morgana murmurs. She looks for signs that Gwen might have any idea that this could become more than just a back massage. Or might want it to. But Gwen seems entirely, cheerfully unsuspecting. She seems to think Morgana's just doing this to be _nice_.

Morgana may be a heroic force for good in the world, but she's not convinced that she's necessarily a nice person. Still, she can't bring herself to shatter Gwen's illusions. The back massage does not become anything more than a back massage, and at the end of it Gwen says, "thank you," very sweetly, gets off the bed and puts her clothes back on.

Gwen spends the rest of her visit cleaning and whistling to herself, exploring the mansion, discovering all of the not-secret secret passages, going for healthy, stimulating walks in the grounds and radiating sweet obliviousness in the face of all Morgana's advances. She seems very happy.

On the last day, in a fit of something like desperation, Morgana leaves a few of her secret superhero gadgets somewhere half in-view. She's pretty sure Gwen would never tell anyone and won't cause any trouble, and, fuck, perhaps the awe and excitement will get to her. It's worth a try.

Gwen walks into Morgana's room smiling, big and bright, Morgana's second-best utility belt in one hand, and Morgana thinks _yes_. And then Gwen says, "You know, this place really does need someone to look after it. All sorts of stuff, lying all over the place." She flourishes the utility belt, her eyes sparkling, all pretty and brown; Morgana thinks, _yes yes yes_. And Gwen says, "You know, Batman had a butler."

"He did," Morgana agrees, suddenly less confident.

"Mm," Gwen says. "I'm graduating this summer, I'm really going to need a job. I think I could buttle for a superhero." Because of course. She doesn't want sex. She wants _gainful employment_.

Morgana grants it to her, of course. And Morgana's no clairvoyant, but in this moment she thinks she can see the months and years of sexual frustration and torment stretching out before her, as if without end.

Once Gwen leaves to spend the rest of her holiday with her family, Morgana goes into the room Gwen was using and looks about her. It's very tidy. But then, so is the whole of the rest of the mansion, now. So is even the Le Fay lair, deep beneath the estate. Morgana remembers leading Gwen down into the lair through one of the properly-secret secret entrances, and the way Gwen's face shone as she looked about her. Morgana hums a little of _Rocky Raccoon_. She tries not to count how many days until she's likely to see Gwen next.

*

And so, somehow, that's it, all arranged, no serious input from Morgana necessary. It doesn't matter that she's Le Fay, saviour of universes. It doesn't matter that really, what she wanted was _sex_. Because what Gwen wants is to be the Alfred to Morgana's Bruce Wayne, and apparently, with Gwen, Morgana doesn't know how to say no.

Gwen finishes the last term of her degree -- actually an undergraduate Master's in engineering -- and then moves into a room in the East wing of Tintagel House, which she redecorates in a retroish soft yellow and cream. She takes over the cooking, keeps everything clean -- with weekly help from some hired cleaners; it _is_ rather a large mansion -- and even launders Morgana's superhero costumes.

It turns out that Gwen can get even mutant alien blood out of any material, usually in under a minute. She can also mend most of the usual rips and tears so that you'd never know they'd been there, though she draws the line the day Morgana gets too close to a fire canon and is left with only a bikini-like set of rags. Morgana spots these for sale on eBay a few days later, all proceeds to an AIDS research charity -- she says nothing, though she is briefly troubled by an odd, niggling feeling that it ought to have been orphans.

Gwen also starts investigating Morgana's secret gadgets and suggesting modifications to the designs.

"I know about these things," she says. "My father used to work for Doctor Evil for a while, before he worked out that she was Evil."

Morgana is intrigued. "Wasn't the giveaway in the name?"

"He thought it was ironic."

Morgana hires Gwen's father to work for her in secret gadget manufacture, but appoints a few people to keep an eye on him and writes _dangerously naive_ in his file. In his first month on the job he makes her a sword that is not only possibly the sharpest sword in all the world but is also nicely decorated with jewels and twisting metalwork. Morgana likes this extremely. She decides that even if Tom comes to accidentally betray her, it'll probably still be worth it.

The sword makes Arthur-the-insufferable insanely jealous. This is because not only is Arthur an insufferable twonk whom far too many people believe is heart-stoppingly gorgeous; Arthur is also Le Fay's self-loving, mediawhoring, horrible-quipping, far-too-full-of-it pratbastard of a superhero rival, _Pendragon_.

(They found out each other's secret identities thanks to a mix-up at the dry cleaners. That was the moment Morgana realised that their rivalry would be, like love in a pop song or the emptiness in Arthur's skull, eternal.)

Arthur eventually manages to get his own sword. He calls it Excalibur, because he's a little bit twee and likes giving names to inanimate objects. Morgana still gets to feel smug, since it is unalterably true that she had a sword _first_.

*

Morgana stops using the flat so much. Her mansion is so much tidier now. And it does make sense to stay near her lair and her full array of heroic gadgetry. And she must have been mad to think she could really get tired of velvet and the dramatic curve of her main staircase.

And the flat, she finds, heading back to it for the first time in weeks, at three in the morning after three too many drinks on the town with Elena Princess -- the flat feels chillingly empty. Morgana switches on the TV, the radio, the stereo, and every light in every room, and lies on her bed and feels drunk and foolish. At three-thirty she calls a taxi to take her to Tintagel. Gwen's in bed, of course, but there are flowers in Morgana's room and a fresh glass of water at the bedside, and the quiet feels different: somehow soft and soothing.

Morgana wakes some way into the following afternoon to a feeling like she's been beaten about the head with a metal brick. In the back of her mind, she can feel the weight of a thousand mad, sentimental things she thought as she drifted to sleep. There are two aspirin on the dressing table: Morgana takes them and crawls back under her duvet.

Coming home to Gwen -- or to a house Gwen lives in, full of her tidinesses and little arrangements -- is simply _nice_ , Morgana decides later. Nothing more and nothing less. And _nice_ is good. _Nice_ is what Morgana is paying Gwen for. _Nice_ is what Morgana damn well deserves, as Protector of the City!

It is perfectly possible to think someone makes your home environment pleasant, and to feel a bit frustrated that that same someone doesn't seem to want to sleep with you, and to still not be yearning and pining soppily after that someone _at all_. Morgana's own situation with regard to one Gwen Cameliard clearly proves this statement to be fact.

*

Coming home to Gwen after a job gone badly, horribly wrong (worse than the flame canon), turns out to be something like a revelation.

Superheroism brings its inevitable traumas. Amongst other delights, Morgana's already experienced various levels of bodily harm, up to and including temporary death; has had more hair's breadth last-minute escapes than she cares to think about; and was once inhabited by one of Arthur's earlier and more ill-fated dalliances and came quite close to _kissing_ him. (Ghosts have no respect for mortals' socio-cultural taboos.)

There were ways she dealt with these things. She drank (always a classic). Or she got revenge, where possible. Or she drove fast cars very, very fast indeed, or she engaged in frenetic small-time vigilanteism. It was good for the city, the way so many formerly at-large unsavoury personages tended to find themselves both bruised and newly resident in Camelotham City Jail the morning after one of Morgana's bad days.

Or there was always sex with the wildly-inappropriate Sophia, Princess of the Sidhe and occasional supervillain -- although Sophia's attempts to reform Morgana to the side of evil have become rather tiresome. Call Morgana fussy, but she doesn't think interspersing, "unh," and, "yeah," with, "I know that _deep in your heart_ , you don't want to be good," during the giving and receiving of orgasms is particularly good technique.

But with Gwen there, it's all different. The first really bad day goes like this:

Work on the new Camelotham underground line uncovers a sleeping, underground dragon; its no-doubt beautiful lizard dreams suddenly and rudely interrupted, the dragon rampages the city and sets fire to numerous parts of it. Cue Le Fay to the rescue. With very small amounts of inconsequential assistance from that blond supergithero, Penwhatsit. And fire and falling buildings and split seconds spaced here and there where it feels like the world is ending.

It's some time around the dawn when Morgana gets in. She half-crashes her sleek black Le Fay car into her lair and stumbles up secret steps to her mansion. She emerges in the larder to the smell of bananas, which hang from a hook above a shelf full of tins of beans. The open larder door lets in weak morning light that divides the larder in two, the lighter half painted in dim colours and softer greys. Gwen slips through and draws Morgana out, through the kitchen and into the lounge, onto the softest sofa, hands gentle on Morgana's arms and back, a slowed-down _She's Leaving Home_ hummed absent and drugging-sweet on Gwen's lips.

Morgana's had Gwen's voice for six hours in her earpiece, connected, guiding her through the city as it burned. Now here's the sight of her, the touch, the feel of her breath when she's close. Gwen's eyes are narrow and puffy with fatigue. She kneels and carefully slides off the Le Fay knee-high high-heeled boots from Morgana's feet; she unties Morgana's hair and smoothes it out over her shoulders. All Morgana can do is sink back. She aches and she's bruised and she feels impossibly comforted.

"I've got a bath running," Gwen says. Her voice is hoarse with overuse, quiet and scratched like an old LP. "Will you need me to stay with you to make sure you don't fall asleep?"

 _Yes_ , whispers something in Morgana's mind. _Stay. Stay forever_. She wracks her brains for something less unsayable instead.

"I just defeated a dragon," she manages eventually. "I think I can take on a tub full of warm water."

Gwen looks indulgent, brown eyes warm -- Morgana can't stop looking at her, long beyond when she knows she should stop. Gwen looks back, frowning.

"You're pretty," Morgana says, exhaustion-logic telling her she should explain herself for staring.

"Take your bath," says Gwen. "I'll stay outside the door. If you're longer than fifteen minutes, I'll pick the lock. I'm not about to let Le Fay fall victim to a household drowning."

*

Gwen does care for her, Morgana thinks. Gwen does so much -- has fitted herself so completely into Morgana's life, has somehow sought out all the tiny detailwork for making things _better_. Gwen has chosen this, arranged it like she's choosing her life. Gwen so obviously, obviously cares. Morgana has her, she thinks, has taken her up whole between her hands without even knowing it. Perhaps she really has. Gwen does so much -- perhaps all Morgana need do is ask for that one thing more.

So she asks, one afternoon in the morning room, newspapers spread all over the table as Morgana keeps check on her city, her piece of universe; Gwen tap-tapping at incomprehensible schematics on her laptop at the other end.

"Let me take you out on a date," Morgana says. "An expensively romantic dinner. You and me."

"Um, I work for you, though," Gwen leans forward, her forehead creases, _tap-tap-tap_. "I don't think it's a good idea." Simple as that, a little frown and only a flicker in her gaze on the screen.

"I don't see why not."

"You pay me to be nice to you," Gwen says. "Don't you think..." She trails off, but without uncertainty; she sounds as though she knows exactly what she wants to say, but won't, because it isn't very nice.

"You _asked_ to work for me," Morgana says.

"I'm sorry, Morgana." And now Gwen lifts her head up, but too high, and she lifts her hand from her keyboard and makes a small and inconsequent gesture. "I'm not interested in going out with you."

And that's it.

All right then, Morgana thinks. At least that makes things clear. Now she can stop wondering and enjoy the comfort of having Gwen wait on her, just the way things are -- and fuck, Morgana _likes_ things the way they are -- with no complications, and Morgana's sure she still has Sophia's phone number. She did tell Sophia she never wanted to see her again, but Morgana and Sophia of the Sidhe tell each other that a lot. It's one of the ways they express their deeply unhealthy mutual attraction.

"All right," Morgana says. "That's fine, Gwen. Go back to work."

*

The rivalry between Le Fay and Pendragon begins to escalate shortly after the above conversation.

First, there's the gryphon. Morgana chased that damn gryphon all over Camelotham all fucking day, and it was _her_ flamethrower that finally subdued it, _Pendragon's_ flamethrower was barely having an impact, so when she sees him going for the Pendragon Unbreakable Twine to tie the gryphon up and hand it over to the authorities, Morgana thinks, _no_. Because that's _her_ villainous superbeast, damnit, and it's her, not him, who's going to be filmed looking dashing, heroic and devastatingly attractive with one foot on the gryphon's snout and one fist in the air. She has been _practising that pose_ for exactly this kind of occasion!

She shoves Arthur out of the way and claims her victory.

Maybe the shoving was a little childish, but Morgana was entirely in the right, and so it is completely unfair and unprovoked when Pendragon pushes Le Fay off a building and out of the photo op following the defeat of Evil Doctor Cornelius a couple of weeks later. Morgana fires off the Le Fay Grapple Gun and manages to swing to safety, but by the time she's back on the roof the photographers have gone.

Two weeks after that and they're engaging in a swordfight over the unconscious body of an afanc. Quite literally. Morgana wins because her high heels dig into its slippery scales and help her to balance, whilst Arthur slips and falls in his sensible shoes.

Infuriatingly, the supervillains of Camelotham refuse to recognise the dislike between their two nemeses, and instead persist in behaving as though Le Fay and Pendragon must secretly care about one another.

"Yes, please _do_ keep Pendragon locked in your portable superhero cage," Morgana tells Aredian the Skeevy over the phone. (Morgana's tried changing her number but Sophia inevitably tells all her supercriminal friends the new one.) "You don't even have to feed him! In fact, if you threw something horrible and deadly in there with him I'd probably thank y--"

Morgana is interrupted by sounds of banging and screaming coming from the other end.

Later, she receives a text -- from Aredian's number, but she doesn't think it's from him. She thinks he's more the correct grammar and capitalisation and no words you wouldn't find in a dictionary type.

The text reads: _live + wel chek hedlines_.

The headlines say something about Pendragon, an incredible feat of escape artistry, and the continued wellbeing of the city. Morgana doesn't care to read them very closely.

"Le Fay has never been trapped in a cage in the first place!" Morgana tells Gwen.

Gwen agrees with this, "although there was that box with the solid steel walls last February."

" _Not a cage,_ " Morgana says.

"No," Gwen says. "That's true. Extremely different."

Morgana is glad that they can agree on these things. No matter what pain and inexplicable rejection may lie in their shared past, their friendship and employer/employee relationship is perfectly in tact. Morgana is mature enough to deal with something as inconsequential as Gwen not wanting to go out with her without any unnecessary silliness.

*

As it grows, the rivalry between Le Fay and Pendragon also spreads to include a rivalry between Morgana and Arthur in their mundane personae as celebrity socialites, patrons of the arts and general philanthropists.

Morgana hears that Arthur is funding a new sculpture of his great uncle Aurelius (also the first Pendragon, though few know this, even today) to be erected in the city centre. And it occurs to Morgana, coincidentally, that what Camelotham really needs is a series of sculptures of great women superheroes (many of whom just happen to have been Fabers, unbeknownst to the general populace).

Arthur decides to build a city museum for superhero-related artworks and artifacts -- perhaps it could be called the Pendragon Museum, after Camelotham's great protector?

Morgana sees his museum and raises the Le Fay Opera House, with a huge statue of Le Fay, defeating things, on the roof.

Arthur gives away half his fortune to create the Arthur Biglizard Foundation to find cures for incurable minor ailments. (Arthur himself has had chronic atopic eczema since he was three.)

Morgana gives away two thirds of her fortune towards poverty reduction and fair trade schemes in North Yorkshire. (Those poor little children in Catterick...)

Both hold ever larger and more extravagant parties. And Morgana is fairly sure she wins this round conclusively, although mainly thanks to Gwen, who creates tiny, ruby-red and stunningly alcoholic cocktails using her home-made quince syrup and god knows what else.

Morgana, of course, doesn't really care for cocktails. She's more of a fine wine and whisky sort of person. She's just explaining this to Elena over her ~~first~~ ~~second~~ fifth Scarlet Conflagration (sweet-sharp quince mingling with flavours of cinnamon and vanilla and warm, heady alcohol that slides down the throat as smooth as cream and then sets fire to your brain) when she realises that Arthur isn't anywhere to be seen in the Tintagel ballroom.

Arthur could have stepped out for fresh air. But Morgana has a bad feeling. She heads off to the kitchen to find Gwen -- who has a bizarre dislike of formal occasions and prefers to hide with the fingerfood.

Somewhat as Morgana dreaded, Gwen and the filo cigars and the very small portions of Thai green curry in expensive teacups have company, in the form of one blond supertwonk, also known as Arthur Biglizard. Arthur is murmuring words like _cocktails_ and _quince_ and _recipe_ and _maybe you could show me_. He is also standing very close to Gwen. He is smiling the smile that makes foolish, misguided people think that he is charming and handsome. _Gwen is smiling back_.

Morgana sees Arthur put his hand on Gwen's elbow. Thereupon, Morgana sees red.

She throws a knife at the mini quiche half a centimetre from Arthur's hand to get his attention.

(Morgana always keeps a knife somewhere about her person. It's hard finding a _somewhere_ beneath a clingy, barely-there designer masterpiece like the dress she's wearing right now, but Morgana is an inventive superheroine. She worked something out.)

"Arthur," Morgana says, "if you don't step away from my Gwen _this moment_ , I will disclose the true identity of Pendragon to the city press." She smiles. "You know I've got plenty of photographic evidence." It's true, she has. She needed something to hold over his head to stop Arthur from doing the same to her. "And I've got three different reporters on speed dial." Morgana raises her phone. She's pleased to note that the knife is still quivering in the centre of the mini quiche. She likes that kind of dramatic effect. And she's pleased that Arthur looks seriously worried.

"You know how I'd retaliate," he says. "I have plenty of evidence on you."

" _I don't care_ ," says Morgana.

Arthur looks very seriously worried indeed. He looks at Morgana, then at Gwen, then at Morgana again. Then he looks at the knife. And because he's an annoying git, he wipes the knife on a tea towel and hands it to Morgana on his way out of the kitchen. But the important part is that he goes.

"That was a bit much over a cocktail recipe, wasn't it?" says Gwen. "I, um, didn't tell him, by the way," she adds quickly, then averts her eyes as Morgana re-conceals the knife.

Morgana adjusts herself and shrugs. "It entertains me to scare him."

And because she's still feeling vengeful, Morgana goes and finds Arthur's own butler, Merlin, with whom Arthur has been exchanging yearning looks of unconsummated, anguished sexual tension for at least a year now. Morgana asks Merlin to dance and smoulders at him, and discovers a heretofore unsuspected talent in Merlin to smoulder right back. Although he is somewhat lacking as a dancer.

Thus, for the length of a waltz, Morgana and Merlin radiate powerful sexual tension, and in public, so there is nothing Arthur can do but glower tormentedly. The only thing Morgana's ever liked about Arthur is his glower. Especially when it is of the tormented variety.

The next day, none of the papers mentions Merlin, but _three_ all publish stories about Morgana and Arthur sneaking off together ( _nudge-wink-knowwhatImean_ ) at Morgana's party. Because gossip columnists are apparently as entirely capable as supervillains of failing to spot intense hatred and rivalry -- or because they suddenly hate Morgana so much they want her to consider really setting fire to her brain, rather than in the metaphorical, foodporn-language manner.

(It's not at all common knowledge that Arthur is Morgana's half-brother. It's complicated. And in fact, Morgana herself only found out because she was tapping Uther Biglizard's phone, back in the days when he was Mayor Uther -- before he decided to start burning immigrants at the stake in the mayoral rose garden and people aside from her finally noticed he was a bit loopy. These days Uther is confined to the Camelotham asylum, Morgana broods sometimes about heredity, and the new mayor, Aglain, has set up a rehabilitation programme for the people Uther turned out to be keeping in the mayoral dungeons. And Arthur quite possibly still doesn't know himself that he and Morgana are related. Morgana has never asked him. Her desire to Not Talk About It is powerful and seductive and she is helpless to resist its thrall.)

*

After the party, the next time Le Fay and Pendragon are called upon to defend the city from terrible evil, they end up in a fight in the city park whilst Nimueh is still on the loose. (Possibly Morgana says something about how well she got on with Merlin. Possibly Arthur mentions that he managed to get Gwen's phone number.)

The last thing Morgana remembers is Arthur deflecting a shot from her laser gun with his power bracelets, and then blackness, and so when she comes to suspended upside-down over Nimueh's indoor magma pool, and sees Pendragon similarly suspended a few metres from her, the first thing Morgana does is tell him, "This is all your fault."

" _My_ fault?" says Arthur. "I'm not the one who had my hand on Merlin's--"

At which point Nimueh presses a big red button and Morgana and Arthur plummet towards certain molten fiery death.

At which point they are saved in the nick of time by Camelotham's mysterious and rarely-seen third superhero, Warlock. (So described because he _actively avoids_ photographers. Morgana suspects he must have some terrible psychological problems.)

Nimueh is defeated and cuffed, Warlock slips away before the press arrive, and Le Fay and Pendragon are left to claim all the credit. Morgana probably ought to feel more awkward and ashamed about this, but if Warlock doesn't _want_ to be in the limelight, if he honestly doesn't relish the feeling of hundreds of cameras snapping his picture and thousands of eyes focussed solely on him, well then, Morgana's really doing him a favour by diverting attention to herself.

Later, the press gone, Morgana and Arthur finally head off towards their respective lairs. But Morgana glances back as she goes, and she sees a heroic figure approach Arthur from out of the shadows. There seems to be some awkwardness, and a certain amount of fumbling with masks. And then, for a moment, the two lean close and Morgana sees them kiss. Their two heroic capes flutter gently in the breeze. And then Warlock -- for Morgana is sure that it _is_ Warlock -- slips away, and Arthur is left with one hand slightly outstretched towards empty space.

Morgana shakes her head and feels glad that her own personal life is not nearly as angsty and complicated as Arthur's must be. She phones Gwen to let her know that she'll be home very soon.

"I'll put the kettle on," says Gwen, and Morgana feels no happier than the prospect of a nice cup of tea can merit.

*

Morgana thinks things over as she drinks her tea, and continues to think later as she soaks in her bath, and is still thinking when she ought to be sleeping, late into the night. And the next morning, she sends Arthur a text:

 _Maybe we should call a truce._

It's not that Morgana doesn't still feel competitive. It's just that she's not convinced rivalry with Arthur is worth the risk of being captured by a supervillain again. And then, whatever fierce, bitter energy it was that made her shove him away from that gryphon and build an opera house and put her hand on Merlin's-- well. Whatever it was, Morgana feels like she's running out of it. Morgana doesn't have the will to keep herself so angry with the universe any more.

Arthur texts back:

 _k :)_

Morgana supposes perhaps he's as unwilling as she is to have any more magma-related near-death experiences. Or perhaps whatever it was she witnessed yesterday evening put Arthur in an amenable mood.

Morgana goes downstairs. She finds Gwen in the TV room whistling _I'm the Urban Spaceman_ as this week's EastEnders omnibus loads on iPlayer on her laptop, wall-spanning, state-of-the-art flatscreen monitor blank above her.

"You're branching out," Morgana says.

"Hm?" Gwen looks up, puzzled, and hits pause when the BBC One opening sequence begins to play.

"The Bonzo Dog Dooh-Dah Band," Morgana says. "Though you do make me wonder sometimes if you're not a time-traveller from 1968."

Gwen shakes her head, smiling. "Oh yes?"

"It's more common than you'd think."

"I was born in 1986," Gwen says. "You spend too much time fighting paranormal evil."

"The world won't save itself." It's so easy to slip into this kind of patter.

"You could leave it to Pendragon now and then," Gwen says slyly. "I'm sure he could manage without you."

"He _could not_ ," Morgana scoffs. "You know, when we were both starting out, he got sucked into a parallel dimension. Everyone had a moustache, and there was a conservative-dressing evil me who almost killed him, and _I_ went in and rescued him. The real me. Though I don't know why I bothered, and I expect I'll still regret it the day I die."

"You won't. I know you two care about each other really," Gwen says.

Morgana sighs. "You're worse than a supervillain."

"But not half as bad as the press." Gwen looks back down at her laptop, and her finger brushes over the trackpad. "Oh, that reminds me. I updated your supervillain profiles from Fi to Hum while you were sleeping in. And I alphabetised your explosives."

Gwen says it as though it's nothing. In a way, it's as though it's _become_ nothing -- it's become normal for Gwen to do so much for Morgana, to do so much to help with her work, to make things smoother, to make her life fit her like something exquisitely tailored, the work so good you'd hardly know it's there. Gwen created the job she does -- they never made a proper contract -- but Gwen does it all as if there couldn't be a question that this is what she's here to do. As if Morgana wouldn't pay her the same if all Gwen did was laze around all day and hum the Beatles. But Gwen does so, so much, and has made herself so, so immense a part of Morgana's life -- the thought is elating and terrifying -- and apparently she doesn't want _Morgana_ , so Morgana feels she has to find something she can do for Gwen.

Morgana looks into Gwen's face, which is as lovely as ever. Gwen notices and looks caught, staring back, troubled.

"Um," Gwen says.

"Gwen," Morgana says. "You'd tell me if there were anything I could do for you, right? That is-- there must be things you want. And you're an excellent butler -- I'm sure you deserve some kind of bonus."

Something fast and complex passes across Gwen's face. She looks away, pursing her lips.

"There's nothing particular," she says.

On which it occurs to Morgana that there may be some one, specific thing that Gwen would like very much. Morgana tries the worst possibility first:

"It's not Arthur, is it?"

Gwen gasps and laughs, surprised. "Oh no, god no. Not Arthur. I mean he's nice but--" she tilts her head and laughs again, honestly amused "--he's a little insufferable."

"He is," Morgana agrees, well satisfied. "So, is it a career in the labs, then, like your father? Or another degree?" Gwen might easily be saving to return to her studies. She certainly isn't spending her wages. Morgana pays highly, and Gwen has no rent to worry about and all her day-to-day needs taken care of, and seems to have absurdly little interest in new clothes and going out. The money must just sit in her bank account.

Morgana considers what it would be like if Gwen left her for academia. She'd rather Gwen didn't. But if Gwen would let Morgana support her, at least that would be something.

"Not really," Gwen says, "although I don't know, really, for the future. But there's nothing particular," she repeats, and then she frowns. "Although there is something, actually, that I would like. If it's possible."

"Tell me," Morgana says.

"I'd like to learn to fight. Like you do. I mean, since I'm involved in all this--" Gwen gestures about her, her hand indicating first the door, then Morgana, then part of the surround-sound system; but Morgana supposes Gwen means superheroism and related business. "It seemed like it might be useful. Just in case."

It's an unexpected and very interesting answer. Morgana considers it. She feels hopelessly relieved.

"Do you want to be my sidekick, Gwen?"

Gwen looks up. "No! No, it's really not that."

She's obviously lying. But it's charming. And Morgana's completely taken by the thought that Gwen wants to fight alongside her. She imagines the two of them, in tastefully complementary outfits, up against the worst the universe can throw at them. It's a very beautiful imagining.

"I'm not a good teacher," Morgana says, with honesty. She lacks the patience. "But there is someone I could ask."

Gwen's face lights up with gratitude, so that Morgana feels like this could be one of the best things she's ever done.

*

When Morgana was seventeen, her parents -- which is to say, her mother and the man she used to call, "daddy," -- were displaced from the present into the year 3333, as the result of a freak accident in the Le Fay labs. Morgana's mother had been the fifth Le Fay, and Gorlois, her husband, was her chief engineer. Subsequently, they sent one message from the future, which arrived in the form of a text to Morgana's older sister, their full daughter's phone. It explained with minimal vowel-usage that although they had found a way to come back, they had by this point learnt so much about the world of 3333 that their return would risk irreparable damage to the timeline. This was followed by goodbyes and apologies.

Morgana, because she was seventeen, thought that, in her parents' position, she would have risked far more than fucking _chronology_ to see her beloved daughters again. She proceeded to sulk for the next several years.

Morgana's sister, Morgause, became the sixth Le Fay and protected the city single-handedly until the day Morgana turned twenty-one. At which point Morgause handed over the mask, the outfit and the keys to the lair and explained that she was going to try to make it in America. Morgana now collects headlines about Sorceress, Protector of New York, and they call one another on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the fate of the universe permitting.

During her four years of sulking (and taking a degree: the two activities proved eminently compatible) Morgana also learnt everything she knows about superheroism, and most of it from her sister.

The States is a long way to send someone Morgana's used to having at arm's reach at almost any hour of the day. But if Gwen wants to learn to fight, then that's what Morgana will give her. And if Gwen's going to learn to fight, she's bloody well going to learn from the best.

*

Morgana doesn't go with Gwen to the airport. She hates airport goodbyes. She hires a taxi and watches as Gwen and the taxi driver load Gwen's luggage into the boot, and waits in the cold November wind as Gwen rushes back up to her room to check that she hasn't forgotten anything and to go over her list of Things To Make Sure To Bring one last time.

Morgana hugs Gwen goodbye and tells her she'll see her in a couple of months. She staves off any excess emotionality by thinking about whether she should get a sidekick costume ready and prepared for Gwen's return, or whether she should let Gwen pick something out for herself.

Gwen hugs Morgana back and heads for the taxi. She's opened the door and is already half-way into her seat when she turns back.

And then, all at once, Gwen's rushing back to her. Morgana feels arms around her, Gwen's hands slipping under her coat to hug her close -- "Look after yourself," Gwen whispers, soft and fierce -- and then she's gone, she's inside the taxi and the taxi is driving out onto the road and away. Morgana still hasn't moved when it passes out of sight. She feels lightheaded in the pale morning sunlight. She goes over what's just gone by, piecing back fragments of detail in her mind.

She goes indoors. She switches on radio 3 and tries not to think very much about anything. Gwen will be away for two months, which is not a long time. Morgana hopes Gwen will miss her.

Ten minutes later, and Morgana is trying to fit the words of _I Will_ to a Shostakovich fugue. This, Morgana decides, is unacceptably maudlin behaviour. She grabs her keys and her emergency superheroism kit and heads off to her flat, which she considers to possess two advantages over Tintagel House in the current situation: it contains far fewer reminders of Gwen, and it is within convenient distance of a number of bars.

*

Morgana does not return to the mansion for the next seven and a half weeks. She gets half-way there on several occasions, but is turned back by visions of herself mooning about Gwen's empty suite or sobbing over Gwen's neat, handwritten labels on the superweaponry. It seems horribly possible. When she runs out of explosives, Morgana resorts to stealing from the Pendragon lair. Which is more conveniently situated, anyway, located in a central building disguised as a disused warehouse. (A disguise so obvious it's like supervillain catnip: they all-but line up outside the secret entrance to take Pendragon on. Morgana doubts such a good idea can have been Arthur's own.)

She speaks on the phone to Gwen fairly often, but if anything this makes things worse. Gwen is strangely awkward and reticent on the subject of her training, which Morgause says is going excellently. Their conversations become progressively shorter and more distant. Morgana's phone sustains a certain amount of damage as, after particularly unsatisfying conversations, she develops a habit of throwing it across the room.

The day Uther Biglizard breaks out of the Camelotham Asylum is also the day Morgana's phone finally succumbs to its rough treatment and ceases to function. It's also three days after the day Arthur finally updates his security, and two days after the day Morgana told herself that if she didn't go back to her lair to restock and re-equip, she'd be putting the universe at risk -- and then didn't go anyway.

She finds herself crouched in an alleyway in the small hours of the morning with nothing but her sword, her grappling hook, no explosives, and _scuff marks_ on her boots, as invincible zombie knights march through the streets and Uther is crowned King of the City on twelve TVs all playing the same channel in a nearby shop window. His crown has something huge and shiny and definitely not a real gemstone poised upon its central prong. Uther is claiming that the crown is a genuine artifact of ancient kings of Camelotham, but Morgana can recognise his taste and thinks he clearly designed the thing himself.

Morgana tries to think of strategies for weaponry-light situations. Unfortunately, most of them involve pretending to be harmless, for which her costumed superhero persona is not particularly suited, and one of her big problems right now -- and the reason she's out in the cold -- is that when she defeated Uther the last time around, she didn't do it as Le Fay. She did it as herself. She invited him out to dinner, reminisced sweetly about when she was six and he was Uncle Uthie, and slipped something nasty in his drink. The city was conclusively saved about three forkfuls into the main course, but it was a decent restaurant, so Morgana stayed for pudding.

She somehow doubts she'll be able to pull the same trick again, and she's unsurprised when she reaches her mansion to find it surrounded by more yet more zombies. She tries making a covert dash for one of the secret entrances to her lair, and fails spectacularly at the 'covert' part. (Maybe she should get a stealth cape in a more subdued shade of emerald.)

The first three zombies to reach her, she chops in half with her sword. But because they are the invincible genre of zombie, they patiently reassemble themselves whilst Morgana is distracted by some of their brethren.

She is captured and marched back to the city centre. (Apparently, zombie knights do not drive cars. Or even ride horses, worse luck. It's an awfully long walk.)

*

Morgana's one consolation, upon being marched into what Uther has rechristened "the throne room" (formerly the press briefing room), is seeing Pendragon, already captured and undergoing questioning by Uther as to what he has done with Uther's beloved son, Arthur. He looks rather miserable, but even in spite of that, it's not a particularly big consolation. When Arthur is unmasked, he will become about half as much Uther's enemy, since as well as being interfering superhero and potential beloved-son-napper, Pendragon, he will also be said son. Morgana's unmasking, on the other hand, will make her twice Uther's enemy: interfering superhero and treacherous bastard child all in one. Mathematics leads her to believe that this may end in her suffering a fate that is _four times_ nastier than Arthur's -- and this is one area in which she really doesn't want to compete.

Morgana stares at the huge and horrible fake gemstone on Uther's crown -- in real life it is almost hypnotically ugly -- and wishes she could think of a way out of this. She can't, and so she elbows her nearest zombie captor in the guts, just for the hell of it. This does not have much effect. The zombie doesn't even say, "oof."

"Now, now, Ms Fay," says Uther. He makes a quick, careless gesture with his right hand, and one of the zombies punches Morgana in the face.

Morgana struggles and curses and continues to be a pathetic captive, now with a throbbing pain in one cheek and a split lip. Uther makes what he probably thinks is a witty and amusing remark about bad language. Morgana digs one of her high heels into a nearby zombie foot -- still to no effect -- and Uther tuts at her and smiles.

And then the lights go out and there is the sound of something huge, shiny and soul-consumingly bling shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. And when Morgana twists against her captors once again, their grip seems weakened: she gets free and delivers a kick to the nearest zombie head.

The resulting melee is rather confused. That's the trouble with darkness. But when the lights finally come on, there are unconscious zombies all over the floor, and Uther is slumped in his throne, weeping softly, his broken crown clutched in his hands. A masked, caped, heroic female figure is standing over him with a laser gun. And Morgana's fist is about half a centimetre from Arthur's head, and _his_ fist is unpleasantly similarly positioned with regard to _her_ head.

They draw away from one another slowly. The caped, heroic figure sighs. (It's an oddly familiar sigh.)

Morgana hopes that this new superhero is either not staying or at least another of the reclusive variety. There are only so many intrepid press photographers to go around.

"I, erm," says Arthur to the probably-just-visiting superhero. "I suppose it was the jewel that gave the zombies their invincible strength."

"Of course it was," Morgana cuts in. "That was obvious."

"You knew all along, did you?" Arthur says, in a voice that suggests he is smirking annoyingly beneath his mask.

"I knew _all along_. You must have seen me staring at it."

"Well, I did see you getting punched in the face..." Arthur taps his cheek, and Morgana automatically touches her own and winces. "Was that a special jewel-destroying strategy?"

Morgana hates him. "At least I resisted. At least I didn't just _stand there and mope_."

The other superhero looks between them.

"I suppose," she says (in a really extraordinarily familiar voice), "I don't need to ask if the two of you are all right."

Morgana and Arthur admit that they are both more or less all right.

"Does either of you have any handcuffs?" the other superhero says. She looks at Uther, who is now nuzzling his crown and making my-psychology-is-broken noises.

Arthur hands over a pair of cuffs and looks wretched. Morgana tries to forget everything she knows about her paternity. The other superhero handcuffs Uther to his throne.

"I think we can just leave him here for the police to deal with," she says. And then she turns to Morgana and adds, "Come on. Let's get you home."

*

One of Morgana's own heroic vehicles is parked outside the city hall. The other superhero has the keys. She opens the passenger door for Morgana, and then walks round and gets into the driver's seat. She turns the ignition and whistles a little of _Blackbird_ as they accelerate onto the deserted main road. (Camelotham's nonheroic residents are apparently hiding in their homes from invincible zombie knights, making for unusually pleasant city-centre driving conditions.)

"You're back early," Morgana says.

"Actually," says Gwen, "I'd say I got back just in time."

She has an excellent point.

"Morgause got called away to deal with a goblin infestation in Los Angeles," Gwen says. "She didn't expect to be back for at least a week, and it was so close to the end of my visit." She indicates left, in spite of the absence of traffic, and turns onto the road that will lead them into the suburbs and towards Tintagel House. "I thought I might as well come home."

Morgana watches the houses through the window. She feels strange. They're almost at the point where, if she were driving, she would inevitably turn the car around and head back to her flat.

"Thank you," she says. "For today."

"All in a day's work," Gwen says. "I think. From now on."

"Does that mean you _do_ want to be my sidekick?" Morgana turns to face Gwen and smiles her ultracharming, you-know-you-love-me smile. But it hasn't worked so far. Something tells her not to be very hopeful.

"I'm sorry," Gwen says. "I don't."

"You're not going to be my rival, are you?"

"I'll leave that to Arthur." Gwen smiles rather sadly and shakes her head. "I'm moving to Manchester. It's what I've wanted all along. I know that you do good work," she says firmly, reciting as though this is something she's learnt, "but I don't think it's really right that superheroism should be the exclusive domain of the wealthy and privileged."

Morgana's thoughts stumble. And then, suddenly, her mind seems to work all too fast.

"All along?" she asks, and thinks that Gwen must reply that no, Morgana has misunderstood -- except the words don't come out as they should. Morgana moves her mouth and forms a few fragments of whispering sounds, and nothing more.

"I want to change things," Gwen continues. She's speaking a little faster now, with more anxiety in her voice, but she still sounds practised, her own words still distinct. "I thought I could try to be accountable to the local government, a sort of people's superhero. My father and brother are coming with me. And -- we've all been saving up, but we want to be partly dependent on donations. I think it's better that way -- I think it's more accountable."

"Accountable," Morgana repeats. It's a strange idea. And then: "But all this time, with me-- All along."

Gwen keeps her attention on the road. Her expression is obscured by her mask, but Morgana watches her face anyway.

"All along," Morgana repeats.

Gwen turns off a little before they reach the mansion, heading around towards the edge of Morgana's estate, down side roads and then into the grounds themselves, down a rough country lane. She presses a small red button that is nestled amongst the controls for the car stereo, and the secret entrance to the Le Fay lair opens up to greet them. Gwen drives inside.

"I've learnt a lot from you," she says.

"That's why you wanted the job." Morgana feels betrayed in a way she hasn't for years.

"Yes," Gwen admits, and now her voice shakes. Electric lights flick on all around. Gwen brings the car to a halt. She leans her head forwards against the backs of her hands, which are gripped around the top of the steering wheel. "And more than that. I'd done research. I was aware when we met that you might be Le Fay. I-- I was very lucky."

"I suppose so. I expect the opportunity to spy on your ideal target doesn't usually walk up to you in a bar and try to pull. And then you were so _good_ to me."

Gwen turns her head away so that her cheek is now pressed to her hands, the back of her head facing Morgana.

"You made sure I'd want to keep you around," Morgana says.

Gwen replies quietly, "I felt guilty."

Morgana tries to think about that and finds she doesn't want to. Anything like guilt is too complex, too muddy. Another idea strikes her: something from a little earlier that's been lingering at the edge of her mind.

"You never told me you had a brother," she says.

"He's been working for Vivian, Protector of Kent." Gwen lifts her head. "Neither did you."

Morgana shakes her head. That's not even on file. There's no way Gwen can know.

"Morgause assumed that I knew," Gwen says.

Morgana gets out of the car and finds her motorbike. She doesn't know what Gwen does in the meantime. She drives out and back to her flat, still in costume, and she drives fast enough and madly enough that for a while, her mind is blank of everything but speed.

At the flat, she gets out her sword and slices through her gorgeous, burgundy-red leather sofa. She slashes at it a few times more and pokes her sword around in its innards so that it leaks its stuffing uglily. And she texts Gwen to tell her to get the fuck out of Morgana's property, and if there's a trace left that she ever lived there by the following morning, the consequences will be visited upon everyone Gwen loves.

Morgana then proceeds to try to drink herself into a stupor, but she's had a long day. She collapses after her fourth shot of vodka, and spends the night sleeping fitfully.

*

Morgana wakes the next morning and feels disgusting. It is never a good idea to sleep in head-to-toe lycra.

She showers and eats and feels painfully angry. She kicks the corpse of her beautiful sofa. She shoves it over so that it falls backwards with a reverberating thump. And then she leaves and heads for her mansion, to check Gwen's handiwork in erasing herself from Morgana's life.

Said handiwork turns out to have been good. Gwen didn't bring very much with her when she moved in -- she's never seemed to own particularly much -- but what she did bring is gone. Her room is clean and bare. Gwen hasn't taken down the wallpaper or pulled up the carpet, but with the bed stripped of linen and the shelves and dresser empty, it all looks different anyway.

In the lair, Gwen's labels are still on the weapons and her systems are still in force in their arrangement, but Morgana can and will change that soon enough. She decides she'll allow Gwen's friends, father and fucking secret brother to remain unharmed.

She switches on the news to check for any timely, moderately challenging evil for her to fight, but finds that it is mostly dominated by confused reports as to Uther's brief reign of terror and the mystery of his defeat. Morgana is obscurely surprised to find that Arthur hasn't taken the credit, but supposes some kind of complicated filial angst must have prevented him. And she's happy enough not to have to see _Pendragon Is Wonderful! And Amazing! And So Handsome!_ in the headlines.

She finds a spare mobile and phones her sister to tell her how furious she is that Morgause trained Gwen up to be a superhero and told her about Morgana's paternity. Unfortunately, Morgause's reply consists of the following points:

1\. Morgana asked her to.  
2\. Gwen seemed to know everything about Morgana; Morgana seemed to trust Gwen implicitly to the extent that she _asked Morgause to train Gwen in heroic combat_ ; Morgause assumed that Gwen really did know everything.  
3\. By the way, it's four in the morning here.  
4\. And fighting goblins isn't exactly easy.  
5\. Morgause loves Morgana and hopes she and Gwen can work things out.  
6\. Gwen is lovely, by the way.  
7\. But.  
8\. _Four in the morning_.  
9\. _Goblins_.  
10\. _Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep_.

It's a less satisfying conversation that Morgana had hoped for. She had wanted it to be more dominated by her sense of righteous anger and involve less discussion of timezones.

She gets into costume and spends the afternoon stalking the streets for thieves and murderers, but on this of all days, the population of Camelotham is infuriatingly law-abiding. After five or six hours of fruitless stalking, Morgana phones Sophia. But Sophia turns out to be out of town for some kind of annual Sidhe gathering.

At a loss for anyone else to turn to, Morgana phones Arthur.

"My life is awful," she tells him when he picks up.

But Arthur is a bastard and a twonk and always has to try to bloody one-up her.

"Mine is worse," he says.

"Gwen was spying on me all along," Morgana replies, "and has left me, and is going to be a socialist superhero. In _Manchester_."

Arthur sighs. "Merlin is Warlock. I found him rounding up the remaining zombies in my front garden."

"That only makes your personal life simpler," Morgana points out.

Arthur is angstily silent. He is apparently unwilling to concede that his personal life is at all simpler, or that Morgana has nullified his claim to awful life victory.

"Uther is my father," Morgana adds. If even Gwen knows, perhaps Arthur has a right to. It's been long enough. And besides, even if this one is an equal source of angst for both of them, she can at least get him to concede her numerical superiority in the field of terrible revelations.

Except: "I know," he says. _Git_.

In which case there's nothing left for it but to bond.

"We share _crazy megalomaniac supervillain DNA_ ," Morgana says.

"He has his good points," Arthur says. "I think he meant to do good." He doesn't sound entirely convinced.

*

They end up at Morgana's mansion, trying to recreate Gwen's quince conflagrations. They don't manage anything close to the flavour, but the following morning, Morgana does feel like she's set fire to her brain.

She lets Arthur stay for a few days, since he apparently can't face someone he thought was two different people, but can't bring himself to kick Merlin out either. They spend a lot of time watching the news. There's still no crime. Morgana wonders irrationally whether Gwen can have stolen her evildoers as well as her secrets.

When Arthur leaves to try to sort things out with Merlin, Morgana feels almost as though she'll miss him. She wanders upstairs and mindlessly heads for Gwen's room -- Gwen's _former_ room -- instead of her own. She comes to a stop in the doorway and lingers there. She frowns at the cream-and-yellow wallpaper.

"I always knew you were too good to be true," she says.

This is not quite the truth. Morgana thought Gwen was amazing, and Morgana sometimes thought Gwen was far too good for her, certainly. But she never questioned why Gwen would want to work for her. Morgana never thought to wonder _why_ Gwen would do so much for her, why she made Morgana's comfort and Morgana's work the focus of so much energy and time. There had been days when Gwen had done nothing except whatever might make Morgana's life a little easier. And to Morgana, apparently, this seemed like natural enough behaviour that she never questioned it. She only wanted Gwen to love her as well.

Morgana shuts the door to Gwen's room and resolves to have someone redecorate it as soon as possible. She goes back downstairs, where the television is still on, playing the twenty-four hour news station. Someone has robbed the First Camelotham Bank. Morgana smiles.

*

Months go by. Morgana buys herself a new red leather sofa.

She makes things up with Morgause. She has to, really: Morgause is her beloved older sister and sometime mentor, and knows all of Morgana's weaknesses, both emotional and superheroic. She'd be too dangerous as an enemy. (And Morgana would miss her.)

Arthur makes things up with Merlin. As far as Morgana can tell, they are now going out and going about it as awkwardly as possible. Arthur occasionally asks her about good places to go on dates-that-may-or-may-not-be-dates. She amuses herself by giving ridiculously awful suggestions.

Warlock begins to show up more often when the city is threatened by evil, but the amount of evil increases proportionately, so there is still plenty to go around. And he remains wonderfully uninterested in press coverage.

Morgana has one last fling with Sophia a few weeks after Gwen's departure, and then Sophia ends things between them for good. Apparently, she'll miss the sex, but even Sophia can't keep waiting forever, and she's beginning to believe that Morgana will never reform and join the side of evil. And so Sophia moves to Kent, and, so Morgana hears, becomes inappropriately involved with Vivian.

Morgana does get Gwen's old room redecorated, in blues and greys. She also spends three days completely reorganising everything in her lair, her electronic records, and her kitchen. But she doesn't get rid of her sword, despite its associations with Gwen's family. She loves it far too much. It's so sharp and shiny.

She buys a new restaurant. The chef, René, is the sort of person people call, "a madman or a genius." He forages for ingredients in an alternate dimension.

She gets through seventeen housekeepers, and Tintagel House steadily descends into squalor. She goes back to her old system with the flat -- not the system where she avoided her mansion completely, but the old old system, from before she ever knew that there was such person as Gwen.

She saves Camelotham from certain doom twenty-seven times. Or twenty-five, if you deduct dooms for which Morgana would have been partially responsible. (Morgause has suggested that Morgana and Arthur take up some kind of violent sport together, and perhaps if they could move their rivalry to something outside of the job it _would_ be better for the continued health of the universe.)

Morgana collects press coverage of a new superheroine, Guinevere, protector of Manchester. This is because Morgana is interested in heroic technique and strategy, and the mysterious Guinevere has interesting ways of doing things. Morgana is acting out of dedication to her vocation.

She doesn't contact Gwen, and Gwen doesn't contact her, until Morgana's birthday, the summer after Uther's attempted coup. Gwen sends a card. Gwen was always the sort of person who had a special birthday calendar and a sizable stash of cards, with something for every personality type, in case of emergency. So perhaps Morgana shouldn't be surprised by the yellow, birthday-card envelope with Morgana's address written out in Gwen's rounded, familiar hand.

The card itself is a detail from a too-well-known impressionist painting. Something Gwen would usually use for someone she doesn't know well -- bland and unlikely to offend. The inside is blank, but Gwen has written, _forgive me_.

Morgana looks at the words for a long time. And then she puts the card away in a drawer, with her receipts and her old bank statements. She dresses up for the party she is throwing, which will be wildly yet tastefully extravagant.

Forgiveness isn't really the way Morgana works. It's not part of the way she thinks about the world. And she's not the kind of person who lets go of things.

Most of her anger with Gwen has worn away. Looking back, Gwen seems less deceptive and far less heartless than Morgana thought in the heat of the moment of first understanding. Gwen seems more comprehensible. Morgana herself seems -- imperfect. But Morgana still feels humiliated at the memory of how completely she was deceived.

She feels complicated. She can't imagine herself writing back, _I forgive you_.

She lets another month pass. And then a few more weeks. And then her phone's calender tells her (as if she needed the reminder) that Gwen's birthday will be in two days' time. And so Morgana picks out a card. It's quite plain: the outside shows a photograph of a landscape. Inside, Morgana writes, _Happy Birthday_.

*

Another week goes by.

Morgana comes home to her mansion on a Thursday evening, after a mild-to-moderately stressful day in the fight against evil, and finds Gwen waiting for her in the kitchen. The counter's still as messy as when Morgana left it, her washing up is still in the basin, the floor still crunches when she walks on it and there isn't anything warm and savoury-smelling bubbling away on the hob. Gwen is sitting at the table, flicking through this month's _Vigilante Magazine_. She may have been humming something -- Morgana thought she caught the sound as she walked down the hallway -- but if she was, she stopped before Morgana got to the kitchen door.

Gwen looks up at Morgana, looks down, looks up again and then seems to fix her gaze upon the space above Morgana's right shoulder.

"Um, hi," she says.

"You're in my house," Morgana tells her.

"Oh," says Gwen. "Um. You could upgrade your security."

Morgana shrugs. The lair is secure, which is what's important. As far as everything else is concerned, she can't really be bothered. High security is a pain: all those secret codes and retina scans.

"I came because--" Gwen says. "That is, I thought-- I mean, actually, this was a terrible idea."

Morgana doesn't know how to answer that, and so she says, "I'll get you a mug of tea."

She feels Gwen watch her as she puts the kettle on. She searches for tea leaves behind a box of branflakes and three bags of spiral pasta (all of them open).

"This feels the wrong way around," Gwen says.

The kettle boils. Morgana finally finds a packet of large-leaf Ceylon and, thankfully, a clean teapot.

"You don't work for me any more," she says.

"No," says Gwen. "That's true."

A sense of silent, unspoken meaning hangs over them. It makes Morgana impatient. She pours the hot water, turns about, leans back and looks into Gwen's face.

"I would like to know why you're here," she says.

"Right," Gwen says. She pauses. "So, um. So, I heard you'd bought a new restaurant."

"Yes," Morgana says. "I have."

"Well, I thought," Gwen says, "I thought, well, um, I thought that it might be nice to go there. With you." As she speaks, Gwen fiddles with the magazine, making folds in the page on which she has it open, and she winces when the paper tears. "On a date, I mean, with _you_ , because the thing is I've always-- I mean, I really like you, Morgana. I don't want to go back to being your butler, I don't want to leave Manchester or heroism or anything like that, but I want to try-- I thought, if you want, we could try to-- And I know that the way things were, the way things are, it all went wrong. And I can't even-- I'm not sorry for everything. I'm sorry, but I'm not." The page tears again with her fiddling, and again. "But I'm sorry I hurt you. I know I hurt you. And I knew-- And I'm sorry--" She twists her hands in the air, as if to gesture her meaning into life, and she rips a piece of the page completely out of the magazine. She stares at the torn-off piece, puts it on the table and shakes her head at it. "I know that things were all wrong," she says.

Morgana watches her. Morgana's heart beats hard and she feels freezing cold.

"A date," Gwen says. "I mean, I wish you would answer." She frowns. "I think the tea is stewing."

It probably is. Morgana walks up to Gwen and touches her fingers lightly and briefly to the back of Gwen's hand. Gwen looks up at her. Morgana pulls up a chair and sits down.

"I think it's good to see you," Morgana says. "I-- I'll get us a table. René makes better tea than I do." She thinks about this. "More interesting, anyway."

Gwen laughs a faltering laugh. "Okay," she says. "Good, okay." She looks about her at the kitchen.

 _Splendid disarray_ , Morgana thinks, as hard as she can.

Gwen says, "Oh god, I have no idea what I'm doing."


End file.
